The plenteous harvest of full-ripened sins.

It was the time when the still moon

Was mounted softly to her noon,

And dewy sleep, which from Night's secret springs arose,

Gently as Nile the land o'erflows;

When, lo! from the high countries of refined day,

The golden heaven without allay,

Whose dross, in the creation purged away,

Made up the sun's adulterate ray,

Michael, the warlike prince, does downwards fly,

Swift as the journeys of the sight,

Swift as the race of light,

And with his winged will cuts through the yielding sky. He passed through many a star, and as he passed, Shone (like a star in them) more brightly there

Than they did in their sphere.

On a tall pyramid's pointed head he stopped at last,
And a mild look of sacred pity cast

Down on the sinful land where he was sent

To inflict the tardy punishment.

Ah! yet,' said he, yet, stubborn King! repent,

Whilst thus unarm'd I stand,

Ere the keen sword of God fill my commanded hand;

Suffer but yet thyself and thine to live.

Who would, alas! believe

That it for man,' said he,

'So hard to be forgiven should be,

And yet for God so easy to forgive!'

XV.

He spoke, and downwards flew,

And o'er his shining form a well-cut cloud he threw,
Made of the blackest fleece of night,

And close-wrought to keep in the powerful light;

Yet, wrought so fine, it hindered not his flight,
But through the key-holes and the chinks of doors,
And through the narrowest walks of crooked pores,
He passed more swift and free

Than in wide air the wanton swallows flee.
He took a pointed pestilence in his hand,
The spirits of thousand mortal poisons made
The strongly-tempered blade,

The sharpest sword that e'er was laid

Up in the magazines of God to scourge a wicked land.
Through Egypt's wicked land his march he took,
And as he marched the sacred first-born struck
Of every womb; none did he spare;

None from the meanest beast to Cenchre's purple heir.

XVI.

The swift approach of endless night

Breaks ope the wounded sleepers' rolling eyes;
They 'wake the rest with dying cries,
And darkness doubles the affright;

The mixed sounds of scatter'd deaths they hear,
And lose their parted souls 'twixt grief and fear.
Louder than all, the shrieking women's voice
Pierces this chaos of confusèd noise;

As brighter lightning cuts a way,
Clear and distinguished through the day:
With less complaints the Zoan temples sound

When the adored heifer 's drown'd,

And no true marked successor to be found:

While health, and strength, and gladness does possess The festal Hebrew cottages;

The bless'd destroyer comes not there,

To interrupt the sacred cheer,

That new begins their well-reformed year.

Upon their doors he read and understood
God's protection writ in blood;

Well was he skill'd i' th' character divine,
And though he pass'd by it in haste,
He bow'd, and worshipp'd as he pass'd
The mighty mystery through its humble sign.

XVII.

The sword strikes now too deep and near,
Longer with its edge to play,
No diligence or cost they spare
To haste the Hebrews now away,
Pharaoh himself chides their delay;
So kind and bountiful is fear!

But, oh! the bounty which to fear we owe,
Is but like fire struck out of stone,
So hardly got, and quickly gone,

That it scarce outlives the blow.

Sorrow and fear soon quit the tyrant's breast,
Rage and revenge their place possess'd:
With a vast host of chariots and of horse,
And all his powerful kingdom's ready force,
The travelling nation he pursues,

Ten times o'ercome, he still th' unequal war renews.
Filled with proud hopes, 'At least,' said he,
The Egyptian gods, from Syrian magic free,
Will now revenge themselves and me;
Behold what passless rocks on either hand,
Like prison walls, about them stand!
Whilst the sea bounds their flight before,
And in our injured justice they must find
A far worse stop than rocks and seas behind;
Which shall with crimson gore

New paint the water's name, and double dye the shore.'

XVIII.

He spoke; and all his host

Approved with shouts th' unhappy boast;
A bidden wind bore his vain words away,
And drowned them in the neighbouring sea.
No means to escape the faithless travellers spy,
And, with degenerous fear to die,

Curse their new-gotten liberty.

But the great Guide well knew he led them right,

And saw a path hid yet from human sight:

He strikes the raging waves; the waves on either side

Unloose their close embraces, and divide,

And backwards press, as in some solemn show

The crowding people do,

(Though just before no space was seen,)

To let the admired triumph pass between.
The wondering army saw, on either hand,

The no less wondering waves like rocks of crystal stand.
They marched betwixt, and boldly trod

The secret paths of God,

And here and there, all scattered in their way
The sea's old spoils and gaping fishes lay
Deserted on the sandy plain:

The sun did with astonishment behold
The inmost chambers of the opened main,
For whatsoe'er of old

By his own priests, the poets, has been said,
He never sunk till then into the Ocean's bed.

XIX.

Led cheerfully by a bright captain, Flame,

To th' other shore at morning-dawn they came,

And saw behind th' unguided foe

March disorderly and slow.

The prophet straight from the Idumean strand
Shakes his imperious wand;

The upper waves, that highest crowded lie,

The beckoning wand espy;

Straight their first right-hand files begin to move,
And, with a murmuring wind,

Give the word March' to all behind.

The left-hand squadrons no less ready prove,

But, with a joyful, louder noise,

Answer their distant fellows' voice,

And haste to meet them make,

As several troops do all at once a common signal take.
What tongue th' amazement and th' affright can tell,
Which on the Chamian army fell

When on both sides they saw the roaring main
Broke loose from his invisible chain?

They saw the monstrous death and watery war
Come rolling down loud ruin from afar;
In vain some backward and some forwards fly
With helpless haste, in vain they cry

To their celestial beasts for aid;

In vain their guilty king they upbraid,

In vain on Moses he, and Moses' God, does call,
With a repentance true too late:

They 're compassed round with a devouring fate

That draws, like a strong net, the mighty sea upon them all.